A pebble in your shoe,
hitching along for a helpful ride.
I'll fix your back with an awkward step.
I'll raise your spirits with broken pride.

Falling over your own feet,
you land upon the lap of a sage.
There I'll pop free from your heel,
just to teach you the lessons of age.

Where I once wore endless blisters,
now lingers a craving for my touch,
and with time lost listening to wizened whispers,
you can absolutely learn too much.

So if you're wise, you'll let them know,
the barefoot freedom of my muse,
And if you know, onward you'll go,
placing pebbles into shoes.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Sarapin, in the year 877 AF.